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Chapters (45)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for Lisa Hall
  3. About the Author
  4. Also by Lisa Hall
  5. Note to Readers
  6. Dedication
  7. Chapter One
  8. Chapter Two
  9. Chapter Three
  10. Chapter Four
  11. Chapter Five
  12. Chapter Six
  13. Chapter Seven
  14. Chapter Eight
  15. Chapter Nine
  16. Chapter Ten
  17. Chapter Eleven
  18. Chapter Twelve
  19. Chapter Thirteen
  20. Chapter Fourteen
  21. Chapter Fifteen
  22. Chapter Sixteen
  23. Chapter Seventeen
  24. Chapter Eighteen
  25. Chapter Nineteen
  26. Chapter Twenty
  27. Chapter Twenty-One
  28. Chapter Twenty-Two
  29. Chapter Twenty-Three
  30. Chapter Twenty-Four
  31. Chapter Twenty-Five
  32. Chapter Twenty-Six
  33. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  34. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  35. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  36. Chapter Thirty
  37. Chapter Thirty-One
  38. Chapter Thirty-Two
  39. Chapter Thirty-Three
  40. Acknowledgements
  41. Extract
  42. Prologue
  43. Chapter One
  44. Chapter Two
  45. About the Publisher

I hurry Mina to preschool as she grumbles and whines alongside me. On the way home, I rush past The Daisy Chain, the buckets already outside. I would have stopped usually, but I keep my eyes down, hoping that Naomi doesn’t come out and see me. Once inside, I lay the baby down to sleep and step out into the garden, to where the flowers of the oleander tree almost glow in the bright sunshine. Ragged stems show where the flowers have been snipped, and I feel a hot gush of tears sting my eyes as I look over the bush. It wasn’t me. I’m sure it wasn’t me. There is a dull throbbing at the back of my head, an ache that thuds with each beat of my pulse. I step away, my chest tight, as my eyes rake over the disturbed earth where I buried the bones. I can still feel them, beneath the soil, can still feel a thick malevolence pulling me in and I step back, towards the pond, my arms wrapped tightly across my body. Turning my back, I look out across the pond. It lies at the very edge of the woods, half of the water covered by shade from the trees, the other half sunlit but still murky, reeds growing from the clay edges, the mud drying and cracking around it from the long spell of warm weather. Rav should have filled it in, months ago. I asked him to when we moved in, afraid the children would be drawn to it, but this morning it offers a sense of peace. I have a strong urge to feel the cold water and the cool mud beneath it on my skin and I glance towards the house. The baby monitor is silent, the house quiet. I slide my shoes off and sit on the grass, inching forward until my toes sink under the water. Closing my eyes, I lean back on my elbows, letting the water lap around my calves and let out a long breath. What am I going to do? The message on Rav’s phone from Naomi burns brightly behind my eyelids and sticks in my throat. They both think I’m mad. They think the children aren’t safe. They want to take the children away. I feel it again then, the breath on the back of my neck and sit bolt upright, catching my foot on something hard under the water.